


Letters to my Neighbor

by AkakoDukes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Apartment AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkakoDukes/pseuds/AkakoDukes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker lives above Wash. Tucker works night shift, and Wash's alarm always goes off at dawn. One angry letter leads to a lot of escalation thanks to their friends. It may or may not turn into a war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From apartment!AU prompts on Tumblr. This is several combined into one. (list will be updated as more prompts find their way into the story)
> 
> "The guy living below me has a really loud alarm clock that always wakes me at the asscrack of dawn."
> 
> "My neighbor has a really squeaky bed and my bedroom is right below his."

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_  

 

Jesus fucking Christ, did the person below him have a fucking jackhammer for a fucking alarm clock? Tucker rolled over in his bed and tried putting his pillow over his head.

 

_beep...beep...beep…_

 

He could still hear it. Though it didn’t really help that this entire fucking complex had walls, and apparently floors, that were paper fucking thin.  He rolled out of his bed onto the scratched, probably filthy hardwood floor and picked up his unused weights that were a gift. He picked up one with some difficulty, and let it thump to the floor.

 

  Two seconds and the alarm shut off with a drowsy, “Sorry!”

 

  “Fuck off.” He would hold until his dying breath that it wasn’t a whine. It was angry, damnit. He peeked at his own clock. 6:30am. He hadn’t even been asleep for an hour. He didn’t hate working graveyard at the warehouse, but times like this, he didn’t quite like it either. The pay was better than anything else he’d been able to find, and he was bound and fucking determined to get out of this town, so he was saving nup. It would just be so  much fucking easier if his downstairs neighbor had any goddamn consideration for anyone else but himself. Tucker had ever so politely left a note on alarm-guy’s door once, but he clearly hadn’t gotten the message. The question was: was Tucker awake enough to pen another letter? He glanced out the window at the sun that was just beginning to peek over the shortest buildings in the skyline just as the guy downstairs turned on his lawnmower of a blender. Fuck yes, he was fucking awake now.

 

He rolled out of bed again with a squeak of old springs and padded to the living room. There was no carpet here either, and the chill of the old wood crept into his toes. He grabbed the first visible pen (stolen from work, the Charon logo nearly worn off), and a sheet of paper from the printer before he sat at the counter and began to write.

 

**_To the asshole in 113a:_ **

**_I have already gone the route of leaving a polite letter. It seems to have been disregarded. So I’m going to have to try an alternative route. DON’T FUCKING SET AN ALARM FOR 6:30 IN THE FUCKING MORNING EVERY FUCKING MORNING IF YOU WON’T FUCKING WAKE UP TO IT!_ **

**_I work every weeknight! I don’t get to sleep for maybe a fucking HOUR before your alarm and fucking lawnmower blender wake me up!_ **

**_So take your military upbringing or hippie lifestyle and SHOVE IT!_ **

**_Suck my balls,_ **

**_213a_ **

 

* * *

 

 

“Suck his _what_? Who  even says that?” Carolina raised an eyebrow beneath fiery red hair.

 

Wash sighed and tugged the letter out of Carolina’s hand. “My downstairs neighbor apparently.” He shrugged and folded the paper back into the precise thirds he’d received it in.

 

“And you’re just gonna let him talk to you like that?” South asked while her brother sighed behind her. “I say you play the loudest music you can and put a speaker in your ceiling pointing straight up.”

 

“South,” North (Wash refused to believe those were their real names, but no one had ever referred to the twins by anything else) chastised. “Why can’t you just compromise? Get a new blender, but refuse to do anything about the alarm? At least until you talk this out like civilized adults?”

 

“Play Kesha!” Connie called from the next room. “Killer bass!”

 

“Watch the monitors,” Wash called back. “You’re not helping!”

 

“Buzzkill!” Silence.

 

“Jesus! You’re not going to put a speaker in my fucking ceiling!” Wash was practically screeching.

 

\----

 

Which is how Wash came home early from the security detail to be greeted by his friends blaring Kesha in the middle of the afternoon. “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!” He screamed as soon as he cut off the stereo. The only ones not present were Carolina and North. Connie, South, and even York (From New York) were there. Maine hovered in the background, as he’d held the speaker up to the ceiling. (He was the only one tall enough.) “How did you even get in here?! You know what? I don’t even care. OUT!” One by one, they filed out, and Maine handed Wash back the spare key he kept in his locker at work. Fucking York and picking locks. Wash shut the door firmly behind them.

 

No sooner than he had turned away from the door, than there was a harsh knocking at his door. Wash sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He opened the door and was greeted by the only person he’d never met in the building in the flesh: his upstairs neighbor. He was visibly angry: dark brows furrowed, green eyes flashing fury.

 

“Your friends are ASSHOLES.” His voice was clipped, white teeth that were clenched visible when he opened his mouth enough in a snarl. “And don’t fucking say anything. I just came to give you this.” His hand was clenched around a piece of paper that he thrust out to Wash before turning on his heel (nearly whipping Wash in the face with the long dreads) and stalking back up the stairs barefoot.

 

Sighing was really becoming Wash’s thing. Of course the guy had to come down. It also didn’t help that he was hot. Why couldn’t he have an easy and quiet life? He shut the door and sat on the couch to read whatever was on the paper. South’s handwriting in a bright shade of purple adorned the page.

 

**_Hey cockbite!_ **

**_Get a real job! Or just face the fucking reality that the whole world doesn’t revolve around you! 90% of the country is awake during the day. So shut your whiny ass and stop the verbal diarrhea and let people with real jobs get on with their day!_ **

**_< 3 The collective (and protective) dicks of_ **

**_Freelancer Security_ **

**_P.S- Don’t fuck with our friend in 113a_ **

 

Wash groaned. Fucking South. No wonder the guy upstairs just hadn’t come down before Wash had gotten rid of them. Their company was the best, and notorious for being violent when threatened. At least that’s what the media always reported.

 

“Fuck.”

 

\---

 

“I don’t understand,” Caboose said. The six foot four man-child sat on the concrete. “Why would they want to throw glitter and make it rain if they hate you. Glitter is AWESOME.”

 

“Shut up a minute Caboose,” Church said, taking a minute to fix his glasses. “Freelancer Security? My girlfriend used to work for them.  You want me to ask her to go talk to him?” Church turned electric green eyes to Caboose and snatched the lighter from him before he could light anything on fire. “Seriously, quit it. Where did you even get this?”

 

The red forklifts on the other side of the barrier honked their horns, and a Southern accented voice bellowed out, “Get back to work you dirty blues!”

 

“Fuck off Sarge!” Church yelled, and turned back to Tucker.

 

“No, you don’t need to call her. Grif’s sister is in town tomorrow. I’m gonna take the day off and put my squeaky bed frame to good use.” Tucker grinned as the three of them made their way back to the blue labelled lifts.   
  
“Honk chicken honk honk.”

 

“Caboose!"

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Haven't updated in a year. I've had this chapter written since I published the first one. I'm in no way done with this fic, but it has derailed a bit, and I am always in need of RvB betas, since I have a few unfinished and unbeta'ed fics just rotting in my google drive. 
> 
> Sorry for the wait!

Wash knew the bed upstairs squeaked. He’d just never heard it squeak this much. He’d been starting to fall asleep when it had started. He blinked in confusion, then realization. OH. It was bound to happen eventually, he supposed. Though he didn’t think it would be so loud, or so prolonged.

 

A few hours later, Wash knew his neighbor’s name was Tucker, his lady friend’s name was Kai, and YES she liked that very much and very often.

 

He’d texted North, the most rational of his friends, for advice.

  
  
  
  


 

Wash threw his phone onto the bed and sighed. It was going to be a long night. He threw his arm over his eyes and settled in to try and ignore the loud chorus of ‘YES’ above him. 

 

It wasn’t until sunrise that Wash started to fall asleep, and then his alarm went off.

 

\---

 

Tucker let his arm grab for his weight again, when the alarm turned itself off. Kai snuggled into his side, hair brushing over his arm. Maybe his plan for payback had actually worked. He tiredly listened to the silence, he couldn’t even hear any footsteps. He was just starting to doze off after a long night, when that fucking blender turned on.  Then turned off, and then on again. It turned on once more before going quiet, and Tucker was murderous. 

 

Kai was awake now at his side. “What the fuck, Tucker? Your walls are paper thin. You really need to get a new apartment.”   
  
“With what money, Kai? You know I’m saving. If I move, I’ll have to start all over. I just need to beat this guy into submission.” Tucker yawned and stretched, knowing the blender was at least the last loud thing the guy did before leaving the apartment. 

 

_ Knockknockknock. _

 

“Mother _ fucker _ !” Tucker rolled out of the bed and grabbed the nearest pair of boxers on the floor. He hopped his way across the floor while tugging them up to rest on his hips before he opened the door. “Ye- son of a bitch.”

 

“Good morning, Tucker,” the blond from downstairs said, bags under his eyes. Tucker smirked inwardly. Served him right for his asshole friends. “I heard you were pretty busy last night with some physical activity. I brought you and your guest a protein smoothie to help rehydrate and nourish after such a tiring night.” 

 

Tucker could hear the sarcasm dripping from each word as he was handed two paper coffee cups, cool in his warm hands. “Wait, what?”

 

His nemesis just raised an eyebrow at Tucker and smirked. Then he turned to walk away.   
  
“Hey, what’s your fucking name?”

 

“You can call me Wash.” Wash didn’t turn around.   
  
“I fucking hate you, Wash.” Tucker slammed the door with his hip. Then he smelled the smoothie through the small hole in the lid on the top.

 

\---

 

“So, did you sort things out this morning?” North asked when Wash arrived with everyone’s coffee and his own smoothie.    
  
“Um, maybe?” Wash grinned and sipped his smoothie. North just stared at him with that level gaze of his. “So, I may not have actually talked about the problem, but I was just a little passive aggressive. I just made extra smoothies this morning and brought them up to Tucker and his lady friend.”

 

South walked in and grabbed her coffee and sat on the nearest surface. “Sweet. Did you put laxatives in them?” She tossed a bit of blonde hair out of her face before she drank deeply of her coffee.   
  
“What? No! Why in the hell would I do that?” Wash looked horrified. 

 

“Uh, because he’s a huge prick?” South said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“Excuse my evil twin sister here,” North said, shoving her shoulder lightly, only to receive a middle finger in response. “I do wonder what your plan is, though.”

 

“Well, I figured, yeah, I could use a new blender, like you suggested. I’ll go shopping for that once I’ve had some real sleep.” North opened his mouth, but Wash cut him off. “No, I didn’t actually get any sleep last night after I texted you, but I figure I’ll cut a half a day today, maybe crash at yours or York’s place for a few days, let Tucker calm down, and then come back, and make more of an effort to be neighborly.” 

 

“Ugh. You’re too fucking nice, Wash.” South screwed her pretty face up in disgust and hopped off the table she’d been sitting on. “It’s honestly disgusting.”    
  
“Well, if it helps, I did put extra Chia seeds in their smoothies,” Wash said before he sauntered out of the room. 

 

North snickered, and South just looked at him. “Chia seeds, if you’re not used to them, can cause either constipation, or diarrhea. Maybe even just some bloating.”    
  
South grinned. “Little shit, he said there weren’t laxatives.”    
  
“Technically, there isn’t.”

 

\----

 

“Tucker, hey are you even paying attention?” Church snapped his fingers in front of Tucker’s face as they sat at the table outside to eat their food at break. 

 

Tucker blinked and looked away from the random spot above Church’s shoulder to Church’s face. If Tucker didn’t know better, he would almost call it concerned. “No, not really.”

 

“Okay, how many days is this you’ve gotten little to no sleep now, three, four? How did you even get to work tonight?” Church had finished his sandwiches and was cleaning up his mess and Caboose’s. Caboose had wandered off to look at the stars or some shit probably.    
  
Tucker shrugged and picked at his mostly untouched bowl of leftovers. “Bus, I think.” 

 

“You  _ think?! _ ” Church’s eyes widened behind his square glasses. “Okay, you need a nap or something, man. C’mon. I’m going to find an empty fridge box and you’re going to get some sleep. Real fucking sleep.” Church took Tucker’s mess as well, while Tucker just blinked at him.    
  
“Dude, what? I gotta work.”    
  
“Bullshit! You’re gonna wreck your fucking forklift and kill us all in a wave of boxes of reams of paper or some shit. You’re taking a nap, and that’s fucking final. And when I take your ass home, because you’re not driving or taking public transport like this, you’re going to talk to this  _ Wash _ , or whichever of his friends is in his apartment, and end this shit. It was funny at first, but this is getting old fast.”

 

“I’m not gonna be able to sleep here either, you douchebag.” Tucker ran a hand over his face and started to stand, only to have car keys shoved into his hand. 

 

“Then you’re going to go to my car and get some sleep in there. I’ll cover for you, as much as it pains me. And there’s really not enough workload for the three of us anyway.” Church’s eyes were glaring at Tucker now, and he really had no choice but to obey. The only one who could get away with not doing that, even when Church was mad, was Caboose. And that’s because he just didn’t understand.

 

Tucker felt like even his sigh sounded tired. “Fine. Just, don’t fuck shit up while I’m gone.” Then he carefully stood and made his way toward the parking lot. “And punch me out when you leave, ok?”

 

“Move it, idiot, or I’ll punch you out right now, and I don’t mean your timecard!” Was the only acknowledgement he got as he cut across the small section of manicured grass, starting to get damp with the dew that formed overnight this time of year. He’d forgotten what Church’s car looked like, it’d been so long since he’d ridden in it. After looking over the lot, he internally said fuck it and clicked the button, hoping the range on the clicker thing was good. 

 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the car right next to him beeped. “Jesus fucking Christ of Latter Day Saints.” Of course Church would have a prime fucking parking spot. He looked into the back seat, hopeful, but spotted the usual mess Caboose left anywhere he went, and circled around to the passenger seat instead. At least there he hoped he could stretch out enough, and not have the steering wheel in his legs. If he managed to fall asleep, that is. The quiet here was nice, he mused as he hit the buttons on the side of the seat to lower the back down to a reclining position.  _ Quiet was good.  _ Then he curled up and was gone.

 

The next thing Tucker was aware of was something warm and soft settling over his bare arms. “Shut the fuck up, Simmons. You’re gonna wake him up. And don’t fucking tell Sarge.” Hushed whispers filled the small space.    
  
“I won’t, but what if he finds out?”   
  
“Then we fucking lie. C’mon, let’s go, he looks fucking exhausted.” 

 

Tucker couldn’t even bring himself to open his eyes, and distantly heard himself let out a soft snore as the car faded out of his senses.    
  
He dreamt he was on a boat, rocking back and forth, and someone swearing in the distance, sounding annoyed. He felt the cool breeze on his face and the warm sun on his arms, and then he was being violently shook awake. He jumped and flailed for a second, and an orange fleece hoodie landed in his lap. “Fuck!”    
  
When his vision focused, Church was looking at him, already in the driver’s seat. “Dude, you’re home. Want Caboose to make sure you don’t fall flat on your stupid face on your way to your apartment?” Tucker shook his head and slid into the hoodie, relishing the warmth. “Fine. Then we’ll stay here until you’re in the building. Boss’d kill me if he had to actually go hire someone else.”   
  
Tucker had started to put the seat back into its proper position, when he suddenly had two very large arms around him from behind. “Goodbye stupid Tucker,” Caboose said softly, and Tucker clumsily patted one of the arms.    
  
“Later,” he said to the both of them as he climbed out of the car. He stumbled for a second, before he got his own keys out of his pocket and shuffled up to the front door. It took him a second to get the key in the lock, scraping along the door, before the door let out its customary squeak and he was inside. He heard Church pull away from the curb as he dragged his feet along the old, dirty carpet on the way to check his mail. Again, the keys were being difficult, but he finally got his box open, and sorted through all the bullshit on his way to his apartment.  _ Bill, bill, credit card bill, junk, ad, credit card offer, bullshit. _ Tucker yawned, and his vision wavered as he attempted to put his key in the lock. “C’mon, piece of shit,” he muttered to himself as he tried again, and then a different key because he couldn’t tell them apart by much right now. 

  
Six tries later, and he was no closer to getting into his apartment. “Fuck this shit,”he whined, and sat on the floor beside the door. It was a private building. He just needed like twenty minutes to rest his eyes. So he could see his keys and shit. Yeah, just twenty minutes. His head nodded down to his chest and stayed there. 


End file.
